Polly had made the salad. "And
I'll tell you what I did, Mr. Newton; I brought down that bottle of
champagne in my pocket myself;--gave six bob for it at Palmer's, in
Bond Street. My wife says we ain't got glasses fit to drink it out
of."

"You needn't tell Mr. Newton all that."

"Mr. Newton, what I am I ain't ashamed on, nor yet what I does. Let
me have the honour of drinking a glass of wine with you, Mr. Newton.
You see us just as we are. I wish it was better, but it couldn't be
welcomer. Your health, Mr. Newton."

There are many men,--and men, too, not of a bad sort,--who in
such circumstances cannot make themselves pleasant. Grant the
circumstances, with all the desire to make the best of them,--and
these men cannot be otherwise than stiff, disagreeable, and uneasy.
But then, again, there are men who in almost any position can carry
themselves as though they were to the manner born. Ralph Newton was
one of the latter. He was not accustomed to dine with the tradesmen
who supplied him with goods, and had probably never before
encountered such a host as Mr. Neefit;--but he went through the
dinner with perfect ease and satisfaction, and before the pies and
jellies had been consumed, had won the heart of even Mrs. Neefit.
"Laws, Mr. Newton," she said, "what can you know about custards?"
Then Ralph Newton offered to come and make custards against her in
her own kitchen,--providing he might have Polly to help him. "But
you'd want the back kitchen to yourselves, I'm thinking," said Mr.
Neefit, in high good-humour.

Mr. Neefit certainly was not a delicate man. As soon as dinner was
over, and the two ladies had eaten their strawberries and cream, he
suggested that the port wine should be taken out into the garden. In
the farther corner of Mr. Neefit's grounds, at a distance of about
twenty yards from the house, was a little recess called "the arbour,"
admonitory of earwigs, and without much pretension to comfort.
It might hold three persons, but on this occasion Mr. Neefit was
minded that two only should enjoy the retreat. Polly carried out the
decanter and glasses, but did not presume to stay there for a moment.
She followed her mother into the gorgeous drawing-room, where Mrs.
Neefit at once went to sleep, while her daughter consoled herself
with a novel. Mr. Neefit, as we have said, was not a delicate man.
"That girl 'll have twenty thousand pound, down on the nail, the day
she marries the man as I approves of. Fill